


Crossed Step Forward

by Door



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, idiot is a term of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:39:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8691484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Door/pseuds/Door
Summary: Victor and Yuuri figure out what comes next. Yuuri felt a pressure against the nape of his neck, and realized Victor had laid his forehead there. “I want to be with you,” Victor said finally.  Yuuri found Victor’s hand where it was resting on his hip and clasped it. “Then be with me,” he said, and then: “Good night, Victor.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Adam and Savi for looking this over and listening to me fret about it for days. And thank god for the artists who've created fanart for this show--they helped me envision so many of the small moments in this.

“You’re sure about this?” Yuuri asked. Victor shot him the same look he’d given him the previous hundred times Yuuri had asked the question, but his tone was all patience.

“Yes.”

The patience was his reward, Yuuri knew, for having asked the question instead of just turning it around and around in his head. Which still felt like the appropriate response, but, well, he was trying. They both were.

Yuuri took in the room. The inn’s entryway was currently full of boxes and the spare pieces of furniture Victor hadn’t been using. Getting around it all had to be a nightmare, and he’d been living like this for weeks. “Victor...you know, a good way to convince me that you were serious about staying would have been if you’d _unpacked_ everything.”

Victor rocked back on his heels. “Ah! Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”

“So,” Yuuri said, “where do we start?” He peeked into an open box, which held an electric kettle and a stack of towels. Every box was labeled in black marker, but he didn’t read cyrillic.

“But we can’t!” Victor lunged forward, and it was such an unexpected motion that Makkachin jumped up from where he’d been flopped down near the door. “You haven’t packed up your things yet.”

Yuuri blinked at him. “My things...in my house?”

“At the hot springs, yes.” Victor nodded. “We should do that first. That way, we unpack together.” His expression was intense, certain. But Yuuri had gotten pretty good at reading Victor in their months together as coach-and-skater, and the hand fisted at Victor’s side spoke volumes.

A warmth filled Yuuri’s chest, curled his lips into a smile. “Okay,” he agreed. “We pack my things first. And no drinking with Minako--you’re helping me.”

“Yuuri,” Victor placed a hand on his chest, looking affronted. “Does that sound like something I would do?”

“Yes,” Yuuri told him. They were pulling on their shoes when Yuuri had a thought. “Ah--do you have any empty boxes?”

Victor did, in fact. They were sitting in a haphazard pile in the corner of the room. They broke them down quickly, and Victor gestured with a flourish at the stack once they were done. Yuuri picked up half. After a beat and with a small smile, Victor took the rest.

“Partners, yes?” he asked, opening the door for Makkachin to bound through.

Yuuri nodded and followed him out.

* * *

 At Worlds in April, weeks before, Yuuri had incredibly, stunningly, placed. He’d leapt from the ice into Victor’s arms, where they hadn’t even managed to kiss, they were laughing too loudly.

The press had actually directed most of their questions to Yuuri for once, until right at the end when someone asked Victor if his triumphant season as a coach signaled the beginning of a new career or the end of a hiatus from the ice. Victor hadn’t given a straight answer, prevaricating charmingly until the reporter had dropped it. He hadn’t glanced at Yuuri.

There were celebrations, of course. Phichit held him by the arms and just yelled for a little while, and Minako, who had traveled to Helsinki, got two drinks in her and then cried into his hair. Yuuri was too overwhelmed to do more than nod and smile at the well-wishes. Victor stayed by his side until Yuuri had to leave and find a quiet place. Victor squeezed his hand in understanding. As he slipped out the door, Yuuri watched as Victor turned to lavishly embrace Yurio, who immediately began to shout.

Later, in their hotel room, Yuuri had drawn himself a bath and stared at the tiles while the steam rose around him. It wasn’t a hot spring, but it was as close as he could manage. He heard Victor come in from the hall, still shouting goodbyes in Russian to his former teammates.

“Yuuri?” The bathroom door cracked open. “Are you in here?” Victor’s head appeared around the side of the door and he smiled, spotting Yuuri. “Hi.”

Yuuri smiled back, in spite of the weight in the pit of his stomach. “Hi.”

“How does it feel to be the greatest skater in the world?”

Yuuri shook his head, dislodging droplets of water. “Unreal.”

Victor nodded towards the tub. “Is there room in there for me?”

Yuuri laughed. “I don’t think so. I’ll get out.”

“Take your time,” Victor said with a soft look, “you earned it.”

Yuuri soaked for another 10 minutes, until the water had begun to cool and the thoughts in his head became too much. He found Victor already in his sweats, speaking halting Japanese into his phone. Checking up on Makkachin, Yuuri realized.

“Have you spoken to your family?” He asked when he saw Yuuri standing in the door. Yuuri nodded. “Good!” Victor switched back to Japanese. “Then we will see you tomorrow! _Dewa matane_.”

Victor put his phone down and grinned at Yuuri. “I’m getting better, yes?”

“Very good,” Yuuri told him through the t-shirt he was pulling over his head. When he could see again, Victor had risen and was standing just in front of him. Yuuri stepped forward to wrap his arms around Victor’s shoulders.

Victor hummed to himself and returned the embrace.

“Victor,” Yuuri said finally, once he could no longer bear it, “what _are_ you planning to do now?”

Victor pulled back. “Why, go back to Hasetsu, of course.” He was wearing his charming smile, the one Yuuri had been completely taken with until he saw it in person and realized there was nothing behind it.

Yuuri reached up to brush his fingers lightly through Victor’s hair. “You’re already thinking, aren’t you? Figuring out what it is everyone expects of you.”

Victor tipped his head to the side, leaning into Yuuri’s touch. “I live to surprise,” he said.

“I know,” Yuuri said. “Do you ever get tired of it, though? Basing your decisions on how other people will react.”

“I’ve never thought about it that that way,” Victor said, which, Yuuri thought, might actually be true. “Do you regret that it brought me to you?”

Yuuri shook his head and went on his toes to press a kiss to Victor’s mouth. “No,” he said as he lowered back onto his heels. “Never.”

Later, in the dark, curled around Yuuri, Victor spoke. “Yuuri,” he murmured to the skin on the back of Yuuri’s neck, “what is it you want to do?”

“I want to skate,” he said simply. “With you. But…” he trailed off. Now that he’d come to the thing he’d been worrying over for hours, it was hard to say it out loud. Victor lay silent, waiting him out. “I can’t hang my hopes on being the opposite of what people expect from you.”

Yuuri felt a pressure against the nape of his neck, and realized Victor had laid his forehead there. “I want to be with you,” Victor said finally.

Yuuri found Victor’s hand where it was resting on his hip and clasped it. “Then be with me,” he said, and then: “Good night, Victor.”

They were quiet on the plane back to Japan, Yuuri watching the clouds from the window while Victor dozed on and off, pressed against his shoulder.

They were greeted happily at the airport by more press than Yuuri thought he’d ever seen in his life, and then again at the onsen by Makkachin, his family, and what looked like every other person in town. That night there was a feast, katsudon for everyone. The next morning Yuuri slept in and woke to find Victor gone. He took his jog around town, and when he came back Victor was there, waving off all inquiries into what he’d been up to. They took Makkachin to the beach, came back to soak in the hot spring, and the next morning Victor packed a bag and left.

He’d bid his farewells in typical flamboyant fashion, but had looked Yuuri solemnly in the eyes and said “Trust me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Minako asked after Victor’s cab had vanished down the road.

“I don’t even know if he knows,” Yuuri replied.

* * *

The week he was gone felt like the longest of Yuuri’s life. Yuuri carried on, taking Makkachin for runs every morning, then working out, followed by class with Minako and finally rink time after hours. Now that he wasn’t actively training (and possibly no longer had a coach??) he couldn’t demand the rink during business hours. 

On the fourth day, Victor missed his usual call time, and didn’t respond to Yuuri’s texts. Yuuri thought, distantly, that he ought to be worried. Victor could be flighty, and sharp, but he wasn't cruel. Yuuri spent the day on the beach with Makkachin, who happily brought Yuuri a pile of sticks. In the evening, he went to the rink and skated idly, doing bits from various programs that he’d watched so many times on youtube that they came without thought. When he realized he was skating Victor’s “Stay Close to Me,” he stopped.

The next day, Yurio posted a photo on instagram that was clearly Victor from the back, standing on a bridge over water. The caption was “идиот.” It was one of the only Russian words that Yuuri knew confidently, thanks to Yurio’s helpful tutelage. It meant “idiot.”

Yuuri walked woodenly into Victor’s room and started pulling books off his shelf. He heard footsteps and looked up to find Mari standing in the door.

He cleared his throat, which for some reason was tight. “Do we have boxes?” he asked her.

She nodded, and when she’d retrieved them, started pulling clothes out of the closet.

“That’s alright,” Yuuri told her. “I’ll do it.”

She left, brushing her hand lightly over his head as she went.

On the seventh day, Yuuri was back on the beach with Makkachin when the dog ran off, dropping his stick and making a sudden beeline for the path. Yuuri started after him, than skidded to a sandy stop when he saw what had caught Makkachin’s attention.

“Yuuri!” Victor cried, waving happily from the ground where Makkachin had him pinned. “Come rescue me.”

Yuuri turned away, towards the ocean, and breathed deeply. He turned back to find Victor coming towards him with a concerned expression. He was wearing his nice leather jacket and had pulled his sunglasses off, so Yuuri could see his eyes. His pants were covered in sand, but he was ignoring it. He stopped a meter short of where Yuuri stood.

“I went to the hot springs first. You boxed everything up.”

“I was angry,” Yuuri said, glaring at the ground. Makkachin flopped down between them, panting happily. Yuuri rolled every thought he’d had for three days and three sleepless nights over and over in his head, until it was all white noise. He found he could look directly at Victor, so he did. “I was scared.”

“I asked you to trust me.”

“To do _what,_ Victor!?” Yuuri exploded finally. His face was wet, from cold ocean spray and hot angry tears. “I don’t even know what you want!”

Victor shoved the sunglasses he was still holding in his jacket pocket and stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Yuuri stepped back, pressing the heels of his hands to his stinging eyes. He felt Victor’s hands on his elbows and froze.

“Yuuri,” Victor said urgently. “My love, did you check your email?”

“Did I do--why?” he asked, moving his hand to wipe one sleeve pathetically under his running nose. Victor left his hands on his elbows.

“Your email,” he pressed.

“No,” Yuuri realized, he hadn’t checked it for...since he’d packed everything away.

Victor smiled at him ruefully. “I dropped my phone in the river.”

“You _what?”_ Yuuri dropped both hands from his face, staring at Victor incredulously. Victor moved his grip so he was lightly holding Yuuri’s wrists, delicately avoiding his snotty sleeve.

“It’s true,” he said.

Yuuri stared him down, three days of hurt and uncertainty battling with the desire to believe anything Victor said. Working in Victor’s defense was the fact that it was completely, entirely, plausible.

“Idiot,” Yuuri said faintly.

“I didn’t replace it because I knew I was coming back here. I thought I’d get a Japanese phone!” Yuuri could see it very clearly. Of course that’s what had happened. And Yuuri had...what? Panicked. Suddenly exhausted, he leaned forward, resting his face on Victor’s sternum. “I sent you an email,” Victor added helpfully.

“You sent me an email,” Yuuri echoed into Victor’s sweatshirt. “Wait,” he pulled back. “Is this mine?”

Victor twitched, reaching to tug on the faded green sweatshirt sleeve beneath his jacket. And no wonder, Yuuri thought, the sleeves would definitely be too short. “I stole it,” Victor confessed, “since I couldn’t take Makkachin. I wanted something of home.”

 _Home_.

“I'm sorry, Yuuri,” Victor said, “that I scared you.”

“I'm sorry, too,” Yuuri said. “I--” _completely lost my mind?_

Victor took Yuuri’s hands. “Your tantrum saved us some trouble, actually. Will you come see?”

“My _tantrum?_ ” But he followed Victor back to the road, where there was a car waiting. “We’re not walking?”

Victor shook his head. “We’re not going to the hot springs.”

The car went past the road where they would have turned for the onsen, past the Ice Castle, and down a road Yuuri hadn’t been down in ages. They turned into a drive that Yuuri remembered vaguely, and stopped in front of an inn not unlike the one his parents owned. It had been closed for years, Yuuri knew, one of the first to take a hit when the tourism industry in Hasetsu dried up.

Yuuri climbed out of the car, Makkachin bounding out after him and immediately subjecting the front door to a thorough inspection. It was a good building, only a little rundown from the years of neglect. “Victor?”

“Okay, okay, coming!” Victor hurried from the car, dragging his suitcase behind him. Yuuri realized he must have taken the car directly from the airport. He dug in his pocket and triumphantly pulled out a set of keys. After some trial and error, the front door was open. “Ta-da!” Victor stopped in the middle of the entryway, spreading his arms.

“What is this?” Yuuri followed him cautiously inside.

“I bought it!”

“Why?”

“Yuuri!” Victor dropped his arms and then covered his face with a hand. His shoulders shook and for one terrible moment Yuuri thought he might be _crying_. But he lifted his head and Yuuri realized it was laughter. “Yuuri, Yuuri,” he laughed, stepping forward, “you wound me.”

Yuuri looked around the room. The inn was smaller than Yuuri’s family’s onsen, and he wasn’t sure whether it had its own hot springs on not, but it was still a lot of room for one person. “You’re going to live here and...coach?”

“Yes,” Victor nodded, suddenly serious. “This way, we have room for skaters, you see? I’ve spoken with the Ice Castle and Minako, and everything’s set.” He looked around the empty room and then back at Yuuri, expression proud. “Hasetsu will become a center for skating.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Yuuri asked. Because that was the thing about Victor--he was a planner. For all his spontaneous outbursts and grand gestures, he had a calculating brain beneath the empty-headed facade.

“I had the idea months ago--during the Hot Springs on Ice.”

“That far back!?” Yuuri exclaimed.

“It was only an idea,” Victor said with an elegant shrug. “I have a lot of them, and most I forget. I remembered this one last week.”

“Why here, though? Why not Russia?”

“Why not? It’s your home, isn’t it? The hometown of the greatest skater in Japan!”

Yuuri felt his face heat. “This year, anyway. Will people really come here?”

Victor nodded. “I’ve had several inquiries already. A few from other Japanese skaters. You remember Kenjirō Minami?”

Yuuri laughed. “Of course.”

“So,” Victor said, after a beat, looking around the room, “what do you say? Is this a good surprise?”

“This was meant to be my final season,” Yuuri told him.

“I think that would be a great shame.”

“You're going to retire, then? For good?”

Victor smiled. “I like coaching. I think I’m good at it.”

“They won’t all be me, you know,” Yuuri warned him, reaching out to link their hands together.

Victor took the hint and stepped towards him. “Oh, I certainly hope not,” he said quietly, leaning in towards Yuuri.

Makkachin, who had wandered off to inspect the rest of the rooms, suddenly barked, and the inn shook with the sound of a crash. Both Yuuri and Victor jerked their heads up in surprise.

“Possibly there are mice,” Victor said.

“Oh, good.”

* * *

So they moved all of Victor’s boxes into his new home, and a few weeks later the furniture he’d had shipped from St. Petersburg showed up, and then he proceeded to continue spending most of his time at the Yu-topia Katsuki, drinking with Minako and attempting to convince Yuuri to move in with him. 

They talked more than they ever had before as coach and skater.

“The next time you become convinced I’ve run off to Russia forever, will you please _ask me_ before giving all of my belongings away?”

“I wouldn’t have given them away,” Yuuri insisted. “I just put them in a very small, very dark room.”

Victor’s gaze was steady, and at one time it would have been inscrutable. Yuuri knew it now, however.

“Yes, alright,” he said. “But you! You can’t make decisions for both of us without talking to me first. We’re either partners or we aren’t.”

“As your coach--” Victor started, a haughty look on his face.

Yuuri gestured sharply, slashing a hand through the air. “Coaching is different. Would I be living with my coach?”

“Yes,” Victor said easily. Yuuri glared at him. “And no,” he conceded. “Does this mean you will actually obey me when I _am_ coaching you?”

Yuuri grinned cagily and leaned forward, until he was in Victor’s space. “That’s different, too.” Which led to an interlude of several long minutes in which nothing was said at all.

And finally they came to the day when Victor won. They were packing up Yuuri’s small room, which honestly wasn’t going to take very long. His belongings were already very pared down from years of living out of suitcases at college and in Detroit.

Yuuri was inspecting his books as he boxed them, trying to decide what was even worth moving. Victor had his head buried in Yuuri’s closet.

“I’ve never seen you wear _any_ of this,” he scolded.

“I doubt most of it fits anymore.” Yuuri closed the box he’d filled and reached for the tape. He’d moved on to his desk drawers when he realized it had become suspiciously silent. He looked up.

Victor was grinning wildly, considering the stack of posters spread across his knees.

“No,” Yuuri said faintly.

“Yuuri, you _were_ a fan,” Victor laughed, gathering the posters to his chest possessively when Yuuri lunged for them.

“I never said I wasn’t! Victor!” He grabbed for them, but Victor had retreated to the bed.

“Oh, you have two of this one,” Victor commented, “It wasn’t my favourite photo shoot, was it yours?”

Yuuri gave up and sat back with a huff. “It was the first photo shoot after you cut your hair,” he said, refusing to meet Victor’s eyes. “I liked it.”

“Did you?” Victor asked, shoving the posters aside and sinking to the floor next to Yuuri. “Tell me all about it. Give me a list of the reasons why. _Talk_ to me, Yuuri.”

Yuuri reached out and buried a hand in that hair, tugged Victor forwards gently. “Idiot,” he said fondly, covering Victor’s smiling mouth with his.

* * *

They were lounging on Victor’s blue sofa, which was just slightly too small for both of them, plus Makkachin, but they persisted in making it accommodate them all. Victor was down to his robe, of course, the green one he’d stolen from Yuuri’s parents, head propped on several pillows so he could see the screen of the laptop on the coffee table. Yuuri was sprawled across his chest, wearing what passed for his pajamas these days--shorts and a shirt stolen from Victor. Makkachin had all of their legs pinned, and was snoring, head hanging off the couch. 

Yuuri reached out to pause the video. “What do you think?”

“He’s no you,” Victor said, carding his fingers through Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri turned and lazily pressed a kiss to the part of Victor that was directly below him--the edge of Victor’s right pec. His glasses pressed uncomfortably into Victor’s chest.

“Ow,” Victor complained, without heat. He reached out to straighten the glasses on Yuuri’s nose when Yuuri looked up and apologized with a grin.

“Don’t tell him that,” Yuuri said.

“You’re the expert mentor now?” Yuuri shrugged. Victor moved his hand back to Yuuri’s hair as Yuuri reached to start the next video. It was the short program Kenjirō had performed at the Japanese Championship the year before, but Yuuri only vaguely recalled it. “When does he arrive?”

“On the 11:05 train. Don’t forget.” Yuuri drummed his fingertips on Victor’s shoulder.

After the video ended, Yuuri reached out and closed the laptop. “I’m awake,” Victor said groggily above him, and Yuuri snorted. He shifted until he was propped on his arms above Victor, dislodging Makkachin, who slid slowly off the sofa and into a heap on the floor without ever waking up. Victor was heavy-lidded and slightly flushed.

“Awake, hm?” Yuuri teased, leaning down to kiss him.

Victor hummed back contentedly, reaching up to remove Yuuri’s glasses, which he folded carefully and then dropped to the ground.

“Victor!” Yuuri laughed.

“They’re fine,” Victor waved his hand vaguely, then pulled Yuuri back down towards him.

After a moment, Yuuri sat back up, pulling his legs forward so he was sitting. Victor smiled without opening his eyes. “Are you ready?”

“To go to bed?” Victor asked. “Absolutely.”

“No, no,” Yuuri held him down, hands on his shoulders. “For tomorrow. Kenjirō.”

“Oh, you mean am I ready to coach a skater who I’m not in love with?” 

Yuuri blushed. He couldn’t help it, even though he knew it had been Victor’s aim. “Yes,” he huffed. “And, you know, the rest,” he said, gesturing vaguely. Meaning _are you ready for the rest of our lives_ but not quite able to say it.

Victor smiled like he knew, however, and brushed a thumb over Yuuri’s still-warm cheek. “Yes, to that too. Now,” he said, sitting up suddenly and toppling Yuuri over backwards, “I am also ready for bed. Our last night alone in the house,” he grinned and stood, holding a hand out to Yuuri. “Okay?”

Yuuri felt a dizzying moment of déjà vu, remembering Victor standing brazenly naked and looking like ice-carved perfection in his parents’ hot spring, hand outstretched; and then seeing him now, robe wrinkled, hair tousled, looking rumpled and fond. And Yuuri’s. Until tomorrow, he was still only Yuuri’s. Yuuri took his hand. “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> In a couple years, Yurio will stop being mortified by them enough to join them. He brings his cat, which is a whole other thing.


End file.
